


Something 'bout the Snow

by AnotherGallavichLove



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Baking, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Single Dad!Mickey, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherGallavichLove/pseuds/AnotherGallavichLove
Summary: Just in time for the holidays, Mickey has finally saved up enough money to move him and his seven year old son, Yevgeny, out of their small, run down apartment, and into a duplex. His entire life revolves around being a father, and he likes it that way.They haven’t lived in their new place for more than a few hours when a car pulls up, and their new neighbour tries to get a gigantic Christmas tree into his place, all by himself. A part of Mickey doesn’t want to go out and help him, but he finds himself doing so anyway.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 18
Kudos: 402





	Something 'bout the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is not currently revised, because it's 1am, and I just finished it. It will be looked over soon, until then, kindly ignore any errors! 
> 
> Happy holidays <3

The old, wooden flooring creaked beneath Mickey’s feet as he made his way over to the kitchen, starting to put away the mismatching, chipped plates and bowls. The Christmas music was muffled, but loud enough for him to be able to distinguish every single word; had it been anybody else, he would have yelled at them to turn the bullshit off, and at least wait until they were a few days into the month of December - but it wasn’t anybody else; it was Yevgeny. And though Mickey’s son was a relatively happy child, there was a special glint in his eye around the holidays, and Mickey couldn’t possibly bring himself to take that away from him. 

“Yev?!” He had to call, though, a few minutes later, as he folded up one of the moving boxes, moving onto the next one. 

“Yeah?” The high-pitched voice came from the top of the staircase. 

“You’re unpacking, right? Not just listening to music?” As he spoke, he put the last few cups and glasses into the cupboard, before closing the door, a small chip of paint falling down into the metal of the sink. “Yev? I packed all your shit, I’m not unpacking it, we agreed that was your job,” Mickey sighed when he didn’t get a response. 

“Fine,” came the whine, finally, accompanied by small, angry footsteps. 

Sometimes it still blew him away how much he sounded like a parent - how much of a parent he was. He had never planned on becoming one, and even in the event of knocking somebody up, he had always seen himself being a half-there, but-not-really-at-all kind of father - so, a shitty one. Then Svetlana - one of the girls he regularly threw it in to keep himself in the closet - had come to him and told him that she was pregnant; that had been that. He hadn’t been involved int he pregnancy, or anything like that, nor the first few months of his life. Then she had gotten involved with the wrong people, landed herself in an early grave, and here he was - a single father of a seven year old. At only twenty five years old. And at this point, he wouldn’t have it any other way - of course he would give anything for his boy to have Svetlana back, not that he had cared for her much - but it was sad that Yevgeny wouldn’t ever get to know her.

But their life together was good as of now - Mickey had gotten himself a good, legal job at an auto shop, and after saving up every possible penny that could be saved, and doing so for over five years, he had managed to get them out of their small, shitty apartment in the middle of the south side. And here they were - renting one half of a duplex, slightly more on the outskirts of the south side. It wasn’t as if this place had marble countertops, or heat beneath the floor - but it wasn’t falling apart, either. It was quite the step up; in more ways than one. And for the first time, he would have his own room; the last apartment had only had one bedroom, which of course, he had let Yevgeny have. He couldn’t wait to sleep on an actual mattress - one that Iggy had been nice enough to steal from a garage sale - but if Mickey claimed that he didn’t know anything about that, nobody could disprove that claim. 

After unpacking the things that belonged in the kitchen, Mickey folded up another moving box, and leaned it against the wall. It wasn't a large kitchen, but it felt like it, because there was clearly space meant for a kitchen table, and they didn’t have one - perhaps someday, but as of now, it was wasted money. They ate on the worn-out leather sofa, in front of the busted up television, anyway. They always did. 

Leaving the kitchen, Mickey took the slender, creaking staircase up to the second level - which was really only more of a half-level, because all it had was two bedrooms, both on the smaller side. The only bathroom was downstairs, together with the kitchen, and the living-space. It shouldn’t have felt like a large place, at all, but it did - to them. 

“Hey, you doing okay? Need help?” Mickey leaned against the doorframe, voice just barely loud enough that his son would hear him over the music. He sat in the middle of the floor, looking through one of the boxes; his bed was already made with new sheets, and his desk and dresser were in their places, too - it was the first things that Mickey had gotten done when they had arrived. “Yev.” 

“I’m fine,” his son said, taking a mini, child-sized ukulele out of the cardboard box, placing it next to himself on the black rug. Mickey rubbed the space in between his eyebrows - Yevgeny had gotten a lot of things from him; the blue eyes, the expressive eyebrows, and at least as of now it seemed as if he would end up getting his height, as well - the one thing he had gotten that Mickey wished he hadn’t was his dramatic attitude. Mickey would swear up and down that he wasn’t dramatic, but he knew that he was. 

“Sure you don’t need help, huh?” Mickey sighed as he sat down next to him, reaching a hand down into the box, retrieving a small, plastic megaphone. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he spoke into the toy, holding down the button, transforming his voice into a robotic - but very static, given the cheapness of the toy - tone. 

The boy looked up at him, his bottom lip sticking out - for a minute, he looked just like his father - save for the strawberry blond hair - but then he couldn’t pretend anymore, and his face cracked into a smile. 

“Say something more,” Yevgeny asked, and Mickey rolled his eyes, pressing the button again. 

“If you unpack your things, I’ll order your favourite pizza for dinner.” Yevgeny laughed some more, and then took the megaphone out of his father’s hand. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Mickey asked. “Good,” he nodded, standing up and walking out of the room, but not before ruffling the soft strands on top of Yevgeny’s head. He passed the door to the smaller room, and considered unpacking some of his own things, before deciding that the living room should take priority, so he took the stairs back down, opening one of the boxes that had been left on the sofa. He pulled out a few blankets, pieces of a dissembled bookcase, and the new curtains he had bought - they were the paper kind - but the landlord had warned him that the large window that covered nearly all of the living room wall next to the front door would leave the place with way too much sun at certain times of the day. 

Sighing to himself, he pulled the curtains out of their packaging, making sure not to rip the paper as he looked at the window frame, trying to figure out how best to put them up. As he took a few steps closer, he caught a view of something a bit more interesting, and it forced him to have to stifle a chuckle. It was snowing - a lot - it wasn’t quite a storm yet, but it could easily turn into one; the Chicago street outside was covered in a layer of ice - and this guy had decided that today was the best day to bring home a Christmas tree? Not only that, but it was a large tree - and he seemed to be doing it alone. 

Mickey looked up at the window frame above him, telling himself that he was focusing on his own shitshow, and not the one going on outside. It didn’t take long before he had to dig his teeth into his cheek to keep from laughing; the duplex was crammed in between two other buildings; they were in the middle of the city - there were plenty of people walking by, but the guy outside wasn’t getting any help. Mickey wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had noticed him, but it had to be at least three minutes, and the tree wasn’t even off of the truck-bed yet. 

“Fuck that kid,” Mickey muttered to himself, throwing the paper curtains back into the moving box, before grabbing the jacket that had been thrown over the back of it. “Turning me into a decent person and shit.” Then he opened the front door and raised his voice so that the stranger would hear him. “Yo, you need help?!” He didn’t bother waiting for the response before he closed the door and took the steps of the porch, making his way across the sidewalk, towards the guy with the truck and the massive tree. 

“I do, thanks so much,” the guy answered, clearly out of breath from wrestling with the so-called decoration. Mickey shook his head to himself, unable to keep the sides of his mouth from twitching upwards - it was just so fucking stupid. Who got a tree this big? And if they did - who the hell decided to bring it home themselves? Not even Mickey was stupid enough; or at least he would like to think he wasn’t. 

Mickey would have made fun of the guy, but the snowflakes were so large, and they were falling at such a rapid pace that it was becoming difficult to see much, and he really wanted to get back inside. 

“Where do you live, man? Think you can get the truck closer?” Mickey asked, after they had attempted to lift the tree off, to no avail. “Slide it off or something? I don’t know.” He scratched his temple, cursing himself for even offering to help out. 

“Actually, I live right next to you,” the guy let him know. Mickey still couldn’t see the features of his face - mostly because he had his eyes squinted so that the snow wouldn’t get in them. God, he envied the people who lived their lives without having to realise the bothersome truth of the snowfall. “You just moved in, right?”

“Back the truck up, Santa Claus, then we can chit-chat,” Mickey grumbled; it brought a chuckle from his neighbour, as he got back into the truck, and while he backed away to give him the space, Mickey found himself thinking that the sound was quite nice. 

It took a while, but eventually - with the truck backed up all the way to the porch - the two managed to push the tree, sliding it off of the truck-bed and onto the porch, through the front door. They also managed to get it up and into the stand, before they finally relaxed, the guy rolling his shoulders back, Mickey sighing. 

“Thank you,” the guy said with a laugh that let Mickey know that he thought he was just as ridiculous, himself. Mickey fought the way that the edges of his mouth twitched upwards; for the first time, now, he looked at him - no snowfall, no stress about dropping a giant, heavy tree through the floorboards. 

Fuck. Mickey could hear all of the curses he couldn’t speak out loud, ringing in the back of his head. The guy was tall, built - and when he pulled his beanie off, its absence revealed a head of bright, ginger strands - the perfect length to tug on. The guy shook his beanie to get rid of the excess snow, letting it fall down onto the carpet by the front door; he looked down as he did so, and Mickey was happy, because it meant that he could take a second to clear his throat and get rid of the inappropriate thoughts. 

Fuck, he hadn’t gotten laid in forever - and this guy was gorgeous, seemingly charming, and younger than Mickey - maybe not by a lot, but certainly at least a few years. Even if he was into guys, he wouldn’t be interested in Mickey, and Mickey shouldn’t be interested in him - they were neighbours. As in right next fucking door. Being interested or involved with someone you couldn’t avoid was never a good thing. Co-workers, neighbours - anyone you had to see in a regular basis. No. 

“You okay?” The guy’s voice pulled Mickey back to earth, and when he tuned back in, he noticed that there was a small, slightly amused smile on his face. 

“Huh?” 

“You just looked a bit lost - zoned out,” the guy explained, and Mickey let out a sigh of amusement - which was really one of embarrassment, but his neighbour didn’t have to know that. 

“Sorry, man - lot on my mind.”

“Right. Ian.” Mickey must have furrowed his eyebrows, because the guy’s smile grew slightly more. “My name. It’s Ian. Since you helped me with the tree, and we’re neighbours now, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to introduce myself.” 

“Fuck - Mickey, man,” he shook his head, taking the hand that was being offered to him; when they let go, he tried not to miss the brief warmth of his palm against his own. 

“Mickey,” Ian repeated, as if he was testing the syllables out on his tongue. “Well - thanks for all the help. Can I do something to repay you?” Mickey swallowed, about to shake his head, and assure him that it had been no trouble, but another voice interrupted them. 

“Dad? Daddy?” Yevgeny’s muffled voice could be heard from the other side of the front door, and Mickey cursed, knowing that he was only ‘daddy’ when Yevgeny was really worried, sad, or hurt. 

“Hey, kiddo, I’m right here. I’m so sorry,” Mickey found Yevgeny outside the other front door, and he immediately picked him up, holding him onto his hip. He was becoming a little bit too heavy for it, but the truth was that it was one of his favourite things to do, and he wasn’t ready to give it up. “I was just saying hello to our new neighbour,” Mickey bounced Yevgeny on his hip, as if he were younger than he was; he knew that it comforted him. He turned to Ian, both of them looking at the tall ginger. 

“Okay. Sorry, I didn’t know where you were,” Yevgeny said - he wasn’t crying, but his voice was thick, and it made Mickey feel like the worst parent in the world. He had been standing in front of a random guy, fantasising about having his cock up his ass, while his son had been on the verge of tears, wondering where he had disappeared to.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Mickey pressed a kiss to his cheek. The kid had made him soft, damn it. “Do you want to say hello to Ian?” 

“Hello,” Yevgeny said. “I’m Yevgeny.” 

“Hello, Yevgeny. That’s a really cool name, I’ve never heard that before. It’s nice to meet you,” Ian said, a soft smile on his face as he took a few steps closer, offering his hand to the child; Yevgeny took it, the polite little shithead that he was. God knows where he had gotten it from, because it wasn’t Mickey. 

“It’s Russian. My mom grew up there. Most people just call me Yev because they think Yevgeny is too long, or too weird, or something.” Mickey stayed quiet, looking at his son as he spoke. It wasn’t as if he was shy - but he usually didn’t tend to speak several sentences to people he had just met. 

“Oh, Russian, huh? I don’t think it’s weird, I think it suits you,” Ian said, his index finger tapping Yevgeny on the arm, gently, bringing out some laughter. Mickey couldn’t help but smile at the sound; Yevgeny didn’t have a lot of adults around him - he had Mickey, of course - and Iggy helped them out a lot - Mandy was around when she was in Chicago - but all in all, it was just him and Mickey. It was rare that Yevgeny liked an adult enough to talk to them like this, much less to laugh at something they said. 

“I’m hungry,” Yevgeny turned to Mickey, then, seemingly finished with the conversation in between him and Ian. Mickey sighed in amusement, nodding as he placed him back down onto the porch, opening the front door. 

“The Pizza menu’s on the couch, I’ll be there in a sec,” he called after him, before pulling the door closed, leaving him and Ian alone. It was still snowing heavily, but fortunately, their shared porch also shared an extended roof. 

“He’s really cute - looks a lot like you,” Ian said, to which Mickey brought his thumb to rub his bottom lip. 

“Yeah? Never heard that before,” he shrugged, Ian laughing softly at the obvious sarcasm. Spray some black hairspray into that blond hair and you had a miniature version of Mickey. 

“I’ll let you get back to him, I just figured I’d offer to pay you back, for helping me with that,” Ian said, gesturing weakly to his door. 

“Yeah, what the hell was that - why don’t you just get a fake tree like a normal person? Or at least a tree that isn’t tall enough to brush the fucking ceiling?” Mickey shook his head, and Ian shrugged, his lips threatening to form a smile as well. 

“I don’t know, I miscalculated? I just get excited about Christmas.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

“Anyway,” Ian continued, the word clear and steady. “Maybe you can come over? Have dinner sometime?” Mickey raised his brows. “Yevgeny, too,” Ian clarified, quickly. “And you know, his mom… if…” 

“Nah, she ain’t around,” Mickey shook his head. “It’s just me and Yev - but you don’t gotta do that. Plus, I work a ton - only home today ‘cause I took the day off to move, there’s not a lot of time to make friends and shit. Sorry.” It was somewhat of an exaggeration - Mickey worked a lot, but he always had at last one day off a week; if he wanted to make time for a new friend, he probably could, but he was a little bit scared of what would happen if he got close to this guy. Not just physically, but what would happen to him emotionally, and all of that other crap. He didn’t want to have to deal with it. 

“Alright,” Ian didn’t argue - thankfully. “Well, um… nice to meet you, though - Yev, too,” he took a few steps back, towards his door. “Tell me if you change your mind. I’m a pretty good cook.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, I’m very charming on the phone while I’m ordering,” Ian clarified - Mickey snorted. Actually fucking snorted, shaking his head. 

“You’re a dick, man.” 

“You don’t seem to mind it,” Ian cracked his front door open, and Mickey rolled his eyes, opening his own. 

“Fuck you.” 

Barely - just barely - he heard the mumbled response, right before he shut his front door. ‘Fuck me yourself, you coward.’

——

Mickey didn’t see Ian at all in the days that followed. Although, to be fair, he and Yevgeny spent essentially zero of their time at home. Mickey had to work - long hours; the more snow that came, the more cars came in with cracked windshields, and engines that wouldn’t start. Of course, while he was working, Yevgeny was either at school, or with Iggy - Iggy, who had surprisingly enough shaped up a fair amount himself. He still lived in the worst possible neighbourhood, and Mickey chose not to ask where he got most of his money, but at least he didn’t live in the Milkovich house of horrors anymore - and he was a pretty good uncle to Yevgeny. 

For the most part, their new place was set up, but Mickey still, somehow managed to stumble over moving boxes every single night, when he carried a sleeping Yevgeny to bed. He wished that he could eat dinner with him every single night - read to him, tuck him in and have a conversation, instead of him falling asleep immediately - but six days out of the week, that wasn’t possible. Mickey had to pay the rent - and realistically - he was just as tired as Yevgeny was, usually asleep as soon as his head hit his own pillow. 

They had lived in the duplex for a little over a week, the first day that Mickey finally didn’t have to go to work. He was looking forwards to spending an entire day with his son, eating junk-food, and listening to him talk about whatever he was currently obsessing over. 

Nine thirty in the morning, and they were still not dressed - Mickey was in a t-shirt, and boxers, Yevgeny in his Christmas themed pyjamas - not that Mickey understood why the kid was so obsessed with Christmas, especially since it wasn’t even close to Christmas Day yet. It made him happy, though, and he wasn’t taking that away from him. They each had a bowl of cereal, crunching loudly, eyes on the television screen; Yevgeny seemed very into the cartoon that was on, but Mickey didn’t understand it. Man, he missed the good, old days - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? Rugrats? Ducktales? The shit that was on these days couldn’t beat those shows with an hour head-start. 

“Thank fuck,” Mickey mumbled at the sound of the doorbell. Yevgeny didn’t react, didn’t tear his attention away from the television as his father placed his bowl onto the coffee table - or rather the two moving boxes stacked on top of each other - and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before he went to answer the door. “Oh - hey, man,” Mickey said, unable to hide his surprise at the view. 

It was Ian - dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, his hair clearly slept on, a bit more stubble on his face than he had had the last time they had seen each other; with the snow falling behind him, Mickey had to collect himself. How was it possible that this guy looked better first thing in the morning? It wasn’t fair. Mickey was supposed to just live next to this guy, and not try to jump his bones? Whose stupid idea was that? 

“Hey - you’re not working today, right?” Mickey shook his head. “My siblings are bringing their kids over, we’re gonna try to make a gingerbread house, and maybe bake some other stuff, put up some Christmas decorations - “

“Jesus Christ, man,” Mickey huffed in amusement. “You really this hot for Christmas?” Ian just rolled his eyes. 

“I lean into it, okay - I was going to ask if Yevgeny wanted to come over, but his dad just made fun of me, so I’m thinking I might be taking the offer back now.” Ian smiled, and Mickey was unable to keep himself from mirroring the expression, cheeks aching as he shook his head, turning his head into the apartment. 

“Yev! Come here!” 

“I’m watching!”

“Ian’s here!” Immediately, the sound of small feet could be heard, heading towards the door. Mickey knew that he liked Ian - he had actually asked about him, at least two times since they had all first met - and Yevgeny didn’t ask about people. 

“Ian!” Yevgeny actually ran up to him, and wrapped his arms around his hips. Ian laughed, ruffling his hair softly, returning the hug before they separated. All Mickey could do was watch. Yevgeny hugged Mickey, of course - he hugged Iggy, Mandy, and one of his teachers, but that was it. And he certainly hadn’t hugged anybody the second time that he had met them. 

“Hey, how are you doing, Yev?” Mickey listened half-heartedly at Yevgeny told Ian about the cartoon that he was watching; Ian looked down a him, with a look on his face that had Mickey wondering if he was actually listening - if he cared. Usually, adults would pretend to care, listen a little bit - hell, he was guilty of it himself, every once in a while, when it got too much - but Ian seemed as if he was actually interested in what Yevgeny had to say. “That sounds so good, you’re gonna have to show me sometime!” Ian said excitedly, and Mickey sighed in amusement. 

“What are you doing here? Dad, do you finally have a friend? Uncle Iggy says that you need to find a guy that you can be friends with - but he said that you should have one with benefits.” 

“Jesus fuck, kid,” Mickey sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“We don’t know each other yet, but I would very much like to be friends with your dad,” Ian nodded, sinking down into a crouching position - he did it to get to Yev’s level, but when he looked up, Mickey still rolled his eyes. “My siblings are bringing their kids over soon - we’re gonna make a gingerbread house, and peanut brittle, and put up decorations. I was just asking if you and your dad wanted to come over, too.” 

“Yeah!” Yevgeny cheered. “Dad, can we?!” Mickey smiled down at him, nodding. There was no way that he could deny him something that was so easy to do, and made him so happy. Besides, it would be good for him to spend some time with some other kids. 

“Sure, kid - finish your breakfast, though, okay? You’re not filling your empty stomach with sugar, you’ll drive me crazy.” Yevgeny agreed, hugging his dad before he disappeared back into the apartment. Mickey looked back to Ian, who was standing up again, and he brought his thumb to his bottom lip, sighing somewhat. 

“Look, man - he doesn’t know what he’s saying. My brother’s an asshole, he’s just repeating his bullshit.” Ian nodded, his bottom lip poking out into a pout as he looked down in between them, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants; he moved a step closer to Mickey before he looked back up. They weren’t close enough that anything was about to happen - but they were still closer than they had ever been before - closer than Mickey had been to any attractive guy in over a year, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. 

“Okay,” Ian nodded once. “So you don’t want to be friends with me?” Mickey rolled his eyes, struggling to keep his face neutral, as Ian lowered his voice, keeping Yevgeny from overhearing. “Even with some really good benefits?” 

“No,” Mickey confirmed, but it was a lie - they both knew it. His voice was unsteady, and his eyes kept looking down to Ian’s lips despite himself. 

“Okay,” Ian backed off with a nod. “Bring Yev over in an hour? My siblings should be here around then.” Mickey nodded, watching him take a few steps towards his own door, thankful that he seemed to have backed off for now. The last thing he needed was the temptation to do something he shouldn’t. But fuck, if it wasn’t tempting. 

——

If Mickey had found reasons to tease Ian about being hot for Christmas because of the wreath on his door, and the huge tree in his apartment, that day brought his so much more material. The minute that Ian’s siblings showed up, they were jumping up and down, asking if they could decorate the tree - which Ian of course had saved for them - Yevgeny immediately got along with Franny and Freddie, even though they were both a few years younger than he was, and they got to work, digging through the box of decorations. 

“Did you feed ‘em lines of coke when I wasn’t looking?” Mickey asked Ian and his siblings; the four of them were gathered in the kitchen section of his open apartment, keeping track of the kids while Ian and his sister got ingredients down from the cupboards, quickly cluttering the previously empty kitchen island. There were some similarities in Ian and Mickey’s apartments, of course, being that they were literally living in the same house - but Ian’s had clearly been renovated quite recently, and Mickey’s hadn’t. 

“Eh, they’re just excited,” Ian’s brother, Lip, commented. Mickey did recognise Lip from school - not a huge shock, seeing as they were all still living around the same part of Chicago that they had grown up. He had never been a huge fan of the guy, but so far, today, he didn’t mind him. At least he hadn’t given him any reasons to knock his teeth out. Not that Mickey would do such a thing. He would make sure to get the kids out of the room first. 

While the kids continued to decorate the tree, Ian and Debbie started making the dough for the gingerbread house - Mickey commented that they should have just bought the pre-made kit, and Lip agreed with a grunt, but the other two just gave them a look that said ‘No. We have to be Martha fucking Stewarts. This is a once in a year thing!’ It turns out that Mickey was right, though, because even though the gingerbread looks fine, even when they’ve cut it into the sides of the house - when it comes out of the over, it looks like garbage. It’s all over the place. Ian and Lip try to save it while Mickey and Debbie help the kids decorate some gingerbread cookies that were made out of the left-over dough. 

Eventually, the house looks as if it can be saved, and the kids put it together - with the adults hovering around them, trying to keep them from dropping it - the result is a pile of gingerbread that kind of - sort of, maybe, in some sense of the word, to somebody who is on the verge of going blind - may pass for a house. 

Mickey drinks one beer - possibly two - while the kitchen grows into more and more of a mess when the kids decide that they want to make peanut brittle. Debbie handles it, Ian shooing the kids away from the hot caramel, telling them that they can do the parts that aren’t dangerous. 

It’s somewhere around the time when the peanuts go into the caramel that Mickey realises that he’s having fun. He had accepted the invitation for Yevgeny’s sake, but he’s not having a terrible time, either - mostly because every time he looks at his son, he’s met with a bright smile, and it’s the best view in the entire world. 

At some point, Mickey and Lip end up in the living room, Mickey taking his place on the couch while Lip takes one of the sofa chairs. 

“You guys known each other long?” Mickey feels his back tense at the sound of Lip’s voice, before he forces himself to relax, swallowing down some more of his beer, shaking his head. 

“Nah, man. Me and Yev moved in like a week ago.” Lip does nothing but hum at that, and Mickey felt as if he wanted to say something else - most likely something that would make him want to deck him, but thankfully he stayed silent. 

After a few more hours of decorating, baking, and other Christmas shit that Mickey still didn’t quite understand the joy in - but appreciated because it made Yevgeny smile - Lip and Debbie took their kids and went home. Somehow, Ian and Mickey ended up sitting on Ian’s sofa as the sky darkened outside, a sleeping Yevgeny resting his head in his dad’s lap. 

“You and Lip used to know each other, it’s weird we never met before,” Ian said at some point, to which Mickey chuckled. 

“Man, we weren’t chummy - didn’t exactly think of your big bro as a friendly guy. Still not sure I do.” 

“That makes two of us,” Ian joked. 

“Think I remember you, though,” Mickey added after a beat, watching Ian lift his beer to his lips, his eyebrows raising in question. “From a distance, think I used to see you around. Yeah, but it took a while to connect that that lanky ass ginger turned into this,” Mickey motioned weakly to the man in front of him, who pulled his legs up further onto the couch, tilting his head. 

“Turned into what?” Mickey rolled his eyes. He really needed to think over his words; this guy seemed to hear what he wanted, and run with it. 

“Man, you know what,” Mickey settled on, their eye-contact keeping while he brought his own beer to his lips, swallowing some of it down. Yevgeny made a noise in his sleep, and Mickey looked down at him, before settling his attention back onto Ian. “Thanks for today, man - don’t remember the last time he’s had that much fun.” 

“He’s a great kid,” Ian hummed. “What about you?” 

“Me?” 

“When was the last time you had fun?” 

“Ian,” Mickey warned, motioning to the sleeping seven year old in his lap - but he wasn’t just motioning to him because he was currently sleeping right there. Yevgeny was an obstacle in Mickey’s life in more ways than one - and he truly, honestly would not give that up for anything, not for a second. His entire life was Yevgeny, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Any time not spent with the kid was spent at work, to make sure that he could take care of the kid. “What do you want me to do, man?” Mickey shrugged. He hated the way that Ian was looking at him. Ian, who he had barely known for a week was looking at him as if he wanted to kiss him, as if he wanted to talk about their feelings together, and share stories of their past - Mickey wasn’t in a place where he could do that. 

“Why don’t you put him to bed?” Ian whispered, looking down at Yevgeny with a soft look on his face. “I’ll come over in five minutes.” 

“Ian.”

“To talk. I’ll bring more beer - when was the last time you let yourself have an adult conversation?” 

“You don’t know me,” Mickey stated. Ian didn’t have any right telling him what he did or didn’t need. What he should or shouldn’t do. Ian didn’t say anything to that, though, and eventually, Mickey took another swing of his beer, and carefully stood up, keeping his son in his arms. Ian followed him to the door, and opened it. 

Without another word, Mickey went into his own apartment and up the stairs, tucking Yevgeny into his soft sheets, making sure that he was comfortable before he exited quietly, tugging the bedroom door closed. Right on que, there were a few, gentle, soft taps on the door, and Mickey sighed, opening it. 

“See?” Ian asked, his voice slightly above a whisper, now that Yevgeny wasn’t so close by. “We have beer - Yev’s asleep upstairs - what’s the problem?” Mickey bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to bring his thumb to his bottom lip; then he finally cracked, a soft smile taking over his face as he accepted the beer, shaking his head. 

“You don’t know when to give the fuck up, man,” he grumbled, turning around, and heading towards the couch. Although, as he heard Ian close the door, and follow him, he realised that he wasn’t so sure that he wanted him to give up. “How come you’re home all the time anyway, don’t got a job?” Mickey asked, when they sank down on opposite ends of the couch, both of them crawling up, tucking their legs underneath their bodies like children. 

“I work all the time - I’m an EMT, so it’s mostly nights,” Ian informed him, and Mickey immediately felt like an idiot. 

“Damn, man. Saving lives and shit, I’m an asshole.”

“No, no,” Ian laughed - although they both seemed to keep their voices at a low volume, not wanting to wake the sleeping child. “What about you?” Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“Work at an auto shop. Don’t exactly what to do if someone’s having a heart attack, but you need an oil change, I’m your guy,” Mickey mumbled, before swallowing some more of the beer. He had meant for it to be somewhat of a joke - what he did clearly wasn’t as important as what Ian did - but Ian didn’t laugh. He just smiled - looked at Mickey the way that Yevgeny looked at Dick Grayson. “Man, you gotta stop looking at me like that,” he shook his head. 

“Like what?” 

“What do you want from me?” Mickey ignored his question - he knew damn well how he was looking at him. Ian rolled his eyes, placing his beer onto the two moving boxes, shifting closer to Mickey - not a lot closer, not close enough to touch, but just… closer. And Mickey hated how it made him feel. “Man, I’m a single dad. I work all the time. My son comes first - all the time - no matter what, that includes myself. If you wanna get laid, man, you gotta have easier options.” 

“I don’t wanna fuck you,” Ian shook his head. “I mean, I absolutely do,” he backtracked, then. “But… I don’t know. I like you, Mick.” The nickname sounded so easy, so natural, slipping through his lips. Mickey sighed, pouring some more beer down his throat so that he could delay the inevitable reply he would have to give. “If you wanna date, or you wanna hang out, whenever you got time? Or you wanna just try friends with benefits?” His eyes lit up, lips tugging into a teasing smile. 

“Fuck, I’m never living that down.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

“I’m gonna murder my brother, man. Piece of shit,” Mickey sighed, placing the empty bottle of beer next to Ian’s before sinking back into the sofa. “I don’t have friends,” he continued. “With benefits or without - I think the last time I got laid, Obama was still in office - Gallagher, I don’t have time to think about anybody else. Not myself, and sure as fuck not a third person.” 

“You don’t have to think about me,” Ian sighed. “But you should think about yourself, Mickey,” he continued; Mickey didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed him moving closer, but by now, he was practically close enough for his words to fan across Mickey’s parted lips. “What do you want?” 

Mickey liked Ian. A lot. The person he had been five years ago wouldn’t have been able to admit that to himself, but he had changed; grown. 

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Ian continued, softly. “I can take care of myself… Kind of think I wanna take care of you, too, though.” 

And that was it. Mickey cupped the back of his head, feeling the soft strands of hair slip in between his tattooed knuckles, as their lips slipped in between each other. It was easy; there was warmth, simplicity, safety - anything and everything that Mickey had never had from a guy before. He felt Ian’s arms wrap around his waist, tugging him closer as he pushed his tongue in, moving it around Mickey’s mouth in a way that he had never once felt before. Was this what kissing was supposed to feel like? He had kissed people before, but no one that he had even had a minor crush on - they had always been women he used as beards, or half-drunk, somewhat attractive guys in the bathroom of a bar. It had never been like this before. 

“Fuck.” Mickey couldn’t stop the hiccuped word from escaping his throat, but Ian just swallowed it down, pulling him to straddle his lap, continuing the dance in between their tongues, lips tugging at Mickey’s. “Stop, stop, stop - fuck, stop,” Mickey breathed. Ian chased after his lips for a split second, before the words registered, and he eased his grip on Mickey. All Mickey could do was attempt to catch his breath, his hands limp on either side of Ian’s neck as he sighed. “Fuck, man, it’s been way too long, I can’t do this.” 

“You gonna come in your pants like a twelve year old virgin?” Ian teased, drawing an involuntary moan out of Mickey when he grabbed two handfuls of his ass. 

“Honestly, man - fucking yeah, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen if we continue.” Fuck it. Mickey didn’t have much pride left anyway. Ian hummed, a glint appearing in his eye that Mickey didn’t have time to read before he was moved aside, off of Ian’s lap, and back to his previous spot on the couch. Before he realised what was happening, Ian was on his knees, hands on his belt, looking up at him for permission. “Are you fucking crazy?” Mickey hissed, pushing his hands away. “You can’t blow me here, kid’s in the house.” 

“Your son is asleep, several rooms away. Stop thinking of yourself as a dad. You’re a person,” Ian said softly, but sternly. “Do you want me to blow you?” He asked then - but they both knew the answer. Mickey sighed, before giving him a single nod. Ian grinned, pushing himself up to drop one more kiss to his lips before he sank back down, starting to undo his belt. “Just be quiet. Let me take care of you.” 

Mickey leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he rose his hips, helping Ian tug his jeans and boxers down just enough to give him access to his cock. A part of Mickey wanted to look down at Ian, but he knew that he couldn’t. This would already be over embarrassingly quickly, the last thing he needed was to make it go faster. 

“Fuck,” Mickey choked, before covering his own mouth, sinking his teeth into his wrist. Ian didn’t even have his mouth on him yet; the only thing he could feel was a large, warm hand, slick with saliva, wrapped around his cock, expertly jerking him; there was also the sensation of his breaths, fanning across the head. He felt like a little bitch, digging his teeth in deeper and deeper to keep himself quiet - but he couldn’t help it. It had been so fucking long. 

When he finally felt Ian’s tongue on him, he was happy that his eyes were closed, because if they hadn’t been, they would have rolled to the back of his skull within a split second. Ian’s hand continued to move up and down his length, his soft, warm tongue drawing shapes around the slit, teasing him; making sure that this would last for a while longer. Mickey was thankful that he wasn’t just immediately swallowing him down. It would have been over within a minute. 

But then, eventually, he did. 

The warm, tight, mouth wrapped around Mickey’s cock, swallowing him down, not stopping until he could feel a nose in his pubic hair. The hand that wasn’t being used to stifle his moans moved to the locks of red hair, tugging at it; as he did so, a moan rolled from Ian’s throat into his cock, and he had to stop himself from lifting his hips and rocking up into the heat. 

He started moving, setting a pace that had Mickey’s head clouded, throat more and more determined to push out groans and moans in appreciation. It couldn’t just be that it had been so long for Mickey - Ian was good at this. So fucking good at it. 

“You like it like that?” Ian pulled off to say, voice hoarse. “Like me taking care of you?” After that, he took Mickey back into his mouth, and - while keeping his wrist in between his teeth - Mickey was brave enough to look down. Fuck, he was beautiful; the lamp in the corner caused a yellow light to fall across one side of his face, the other one remaining in the dark. But Mickey could see the way that his cheeks were hollowed as he moved up and down his cock; he could see the saliva spread out across the bottom half of his face; could see his swollen lips stretched around his cock - his eyes blinking up at him. 

“Fuck,” Mickey cursed, barely audibly. At some point, he had moved both of his hands to Ian’s hair, tugging at the roots, helping him move up and down. He liked that - liked having his hair tugged on; Mickey could tell; appreciative moans rolled from his throat into Mickey’s cock, and his eyes nearly fell closed again. He couldn’t do that - he wanted to watch him. “So fucking close,” Mickey choked. 

“Where do you wanna come?” Ian pulled off, sticking his tongue out, slapping Mickey’s cock against the surface. “Wanna come in my mouth? On my face?” 

“Yeah, fuck - your face,” Mickey whispered, panting. “Wanna see that pretty face covered.” He remembered this, now - remembered what it was like to just let himself get into this state of mind for once. It felt so fucking good in more ways than one. 

“Kinky,” Ian remarked, before diving back down, taking his cock deep down his throat a few more times. 

“Now - fuck,” Mickey sighed through his teeth. Ian pulled off, using both of his hands to jerk him off, his head tilted back, blinking up at him. 

“Come on, Mick, come on my face,” Ian encouraged. Mickey sighed, and apparently made a noise that caused Ian to take a hand off of his cock, clamping it over his mouth to keep him quiet, just as he covered his face. Droplets of come fell across his mouth, cheeks - some on the bridge of his nose. The large, warm hand continued moving, leading him through it, before Mickey finally stilled, throwing his head backwards, eyes closed, sighing. Ian’s hand slipped from his mouth, and when Mickey looked back at him, he was greeted with the view of him using two of his fingers to get the come from his cheek into his mouth. 

“Now who’s the kinky one, bitch?” Mickey grunted with a laugh. Ian laughed, too. 

“Still you,” Ian decided, helping Mickey tuck himself back into his pants, before they got some tissues from the container next to them. Ian tried to wipe his own face down, but he kept missing some of it, so finally, Mickey took over. When they were cleaned up, Ian climbed into Mickey’s lap, pressing their lips together; Mickey couldn’t do much in response other than hum appreciatively. 

“Fuck. Thank you,” he sighed, eyes closed. 

“Needed that, huh?” Ian whispered, amused. 

“No fucking idea how much,” Mickey grunted. Ian, perhaps, hadn’t had any idea - but Mickey? He certainly hadn’t had any idea how much he had needed that spectacular blowjob. He felt as if he was back to himself. Ian pressed more kisses to his lips - soft ones, simples ones - almost… chaste. One after another. When Mickey finally opened his eyes, he was met with the softest look he had ever seen in those green eyes. 

“You look tired,” Ian said. “I’m gonna go.” 

Maybe it was because Ian had just given him the first orgasm in over four years that hadn’t been achieved by his right hand - or maybe there were other reasons; either way, Mickey caught his hand as he was about to stand up, pulling him back into his lap. 

“One more kiss,” Mickey muttered, catching his lips in a passionate dance. 

“You came around a lot faster than I thought,” Ian mumbled into his mouth, earning himself a slap to the side of his head. 

“Get the fuck outta here, jackass. I got what I needed from you.” Mickey didn’t mean to offend Ian, and Ian wasn’t offended. He dropped a kiss to his lips, and then got up, walking out through the front door, just barely remembering to close it quietly. Mickey was left on the couch, his smile fading in the absence of the haze.

What the hell was he doing? 

——

Mickey didn’t see Ian for another four days; it wasn’t intentional, although Mickey couldn’t say that he minded it. A part of him was angry - angry with himself for getting swept up in this young guys’ charms, and warm mouth, and tender kisses. He knew that Ian was a good guy, but he shouldn’t be with a single dad like Mickey - and Mickey shouldn’t be with anybody. 

Mickey’s luck broke on a morning, when he was rushing Yevgeny out the door, cursing at nobody and everybody, his warm breath escaping out into the snowy air, creating a cloud of smoke. 

“Hey, guys!” 

“Ian we’re super late - Yev, where’s your lunch?” Mickey said without looking up from his keys, struggling to detangle the one to the front door, which had lodged itself into one of the metal rings. 

“You didn’t give it to me,” Yevgeny said. 

“Yeah, because I had to find your shoes - I told you to get it out of the fridge, go - now!” Mickey sighed, waving him back into the house, the child disappearing as his father continued to struggle with the keys. 

“What time are you home tonight?” 

“I don’t fucking know - eight? Yev! How fucking long does it take to get a lunchbox out of the fridge, come on!” 

“I’m gonna order dinner, for all of us.” 

“Great - fucking finally,” Mickey sighed, hurrying Yevgeny out through the door, and locking it up before they walked down the porch steps and got into the old car. 

——

When Mickey was stressed, he sort of shut down - he didn’t focus on anything else but what he needed to get done. Which was why he was quite surprised to pull the car to a stop outside the duplex that night, only to see Ian walking out through his own apartment door, taking the few steps over to Mickey and Yevgeny’s, a smile on his face, a bag of Chinese food in his hand. 

“There enough in there for three people?” Mickey asked, holding his son’s hand - Yevgeny tended to become a little bit clingy when he was tired; and now, he was just barely harvesting enough energy to use his own legs. 

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed. “I told you this morning I was getting us all dinner. Hi Yev,” he said then. The boy just looked up at him with a tired smile, eyes barely open. Ian chuckled as if it was the cutest thing he had ever seen. 

“Sorry, man, I was so fucking stressed this morning, I don’t remember - but uh… thanks, let’s go in.” Mickey let go of Yevgeny’s hand to unlock the front door, the three walking inside, ridding themselves of their snow-covered shoes. Mickey knew that he shouldn’t be allowing this - shouldn’t be ‘going with the flow’ when ‘the flow’ was a relationship with a guy who looked like a teenager. Okay, so he was in his twenties, and he had an actual job, and he was sweet - the truth was the problem probably laid more with Mickey. He felt… old, and boring, as if he was a dad and nothing more - and he didn’t mind that at all. 

But Ian showed up with food for Mickey and Yevgeny - he thought of them, both of them - and Mickey was too tired to fight the sweet gesture. 

The three ended up on the old leather sofa, Yevgeny in between Ian and Mickey, the kid barely having the time to scarf down enough orange chicken before his head fell onto Ian’s shoulder, soft snores leaving his nose. Mickey looked down, perplexed; he didn’t do that. He didn’t trust adults like that. But he had trusted Ian from day one. Why? How? 

“Are you jealous? I can tip him over to you.” Mickey snorted softly, moving his eyes up to Ian, seeing his profile; eyes still focused on the talking animals on the small television screen. 

“He just doesn’t do that a lot. Trust adults he doesn’t know,” Mickey admitted, hoping that it would help Ian to understand - understand why Mickey was so hesitant to let him in. If it had just been Mickey, they would have been at least fifty boning sessions, and maybe a few public kisses deep by now - he was over denying that he was the relationship type. He knew that he was - even though he had never been in one. Having a single person next to you, to complain to about your day, to fight with, to make up with, it didn’t sound so bad. But he couldn’t do that to Yevgeny - because relationships ended sooner or later. And he couldn’t make Yevgeny lose another person. He had lost too many in his short life. 

“No?” Ian hummed. “I have a feeling he gets it from you.” Their eyes met for a brief second before Mickey huffed, shaking his head, placing some more food onto his tongue so that he wouldn’t say something stupid. 

The night was silent for another forty minutes - maybe even an hour - but then Mickey announced through a whisper that he should get Yevgeny to bed. A part of him hoped that Ian would take the hint and wander over to his own apartment. So Mickey carefully picked his son up, and carried him up the stairs, into his room. Carefully, he got him out of his jeans and into his pyjama pants, tucking him underneath the thick, cozy covers - Yevgeny barely stirred; he was out like a light. Mickey turned the ceiling light on, leaving the small nightlight in the outlet to give Yevgeny a soft, blue light. 

Mickey snuck out, turning around, and carefully closing the door. 

“Like a rock, huh?” Mickey didn’t jump at Ian’s voice appearing behind him, nearly close enough for his breath to fan across his neck. He had known Ian wouldn’t give up that easily. 

“Yeah. That’s what I get, dragging my kid up at six thirty, taking him home way after he should be in bed,” Mickey sighed, walking past Ian without sparing him a glance, heading back down the staircase. 

“You’re a good dad,” Ian assured him. “You’re doing everything you can,” he continued, his voice trailing off when Mickey stopped by the front door, hand on the doorknob. “Mick,” Ian whispered, walking closer, before stopping a few feet away. 

“You gotta leave, man,” Mickey said quietly, finally looking up at him. “We both know what kind of bullshit’s gonna take place if you don’t.” Ian was silent, then he sighed, and Mickey knew that it was as good as a nod. 

“I’m leaving,” Ian gave him an actual nod, before bending down to slip his shoes on. When he stood back up, he was a lot closer to Mickey - their noses weren’t brushing, but it wouldn’t take a lot of movement to make them, either. “‘Cause I’m giving you time, and I’ll be patient - but I’m waiting for you.” 

“What is this, a romcom movie?” Mickey asked, eyebrows arching. “Go out, man - find someone your own age, someone with washboard abs, someone that measures at least six feet, someone who doesn't have a kid, man - you’re a catch. Leave me, I’ve been fine so far.” 

“Listen to me, Mickey,” Ian took his face in between his large hands, long freckled fingers reaching nearly all the way to his temples. Although his grip was soft, the kind of grip that Mickey would have no trouble getting out of if he wanted to. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet - but I know enough. Alright? I should find someone my own age? I did - you’re like two years older than me, that’s still my own age,” Mickey rolled his eyes, but Ian stiffened his grip on his face, just slightly, pulling his attention back. “And as for the other stuff - the abs and the height - if that’s how shallow you think I am - fuck you. I’d be into you even if you weren’t the hottest man I’ve ever seen - and you fucking are, by the way. And the kid? That’s my favourite thing about you. I love Yevgeny, but more than that, I love the way that you are with him, how much you care, and how you dedicate your life to making sure that he grows up to be a good person, Mick - I just… I like you. So much. If you don’t like me back, I’ll back off, but that’s the only reason I would ever back off - if you spew something about your life being too busy, or me being too young, that’s not going to keep me away.” 

“Gallagher,” Mickey sighed, shaking his head softly. Ian finally dropped his hands. 

“You’re a dad,” Ian added. “But don’t lose yourself in that label, because you’re so much more than that. It makes me angry to think that you’re pushing yourself into a box.” 

With that, Ian left. 

——

Surprisingly, Ian and Mickey managed to become friends - and only friends. No benefits, no awkward moments. In fact, they spent nearly two weeks like that - at least a few times a week, Ian would ask Mickey when he and Yevgeny were coming home, and he would make sure to order food at the right time. They would all go into Mickey’s apartment, and eat the food - Yevgeny usually fell asleep between them, while they continued on, talking about nothing and everything. Then Mickey would put Yevgeny to bed, and either Ian would stay and talk for a while, or he would head out - but things were… simple. As if, with everything laid out onto the table - at least from Ian’s side of it - there was no reason for things to be awkward. Ian had handed the ball over to Mickey, and said ‘It’s your turn, now. You decide when you’re ready.’ 

The worst part? Yevgeny was becoming used to it. And Mickey was becoming used to it. Within a few, short weeks - barely that - Mickey had somehow welcomed this handsome stranger into their lives, and they were all living in harmony as if they had known each other for at the very least a few months, even years. 

One Sunday, Ian had been babysitting Freddie, and he had asked Mickey to bring Yevgeny over, and they had all spent that day listening to cheesy Christmas music, decorating leftover gingerbread cookies, until the kids had fallen asleep on Ian’s sofa, feet dangerously close to each other’s faces. Ian and Mickey were leaning against the kitchen island, just watching them, without thinking much of it. 

Mickey winced at the sound coming out of his phone, quick to answer the call, making sure the kids didn’t stir. 

“What’s up?” 

“Hey, I know I said you could have the day off, but I need you to come in and fix one thing, I can’t figure out what’s wrong with this car, you’re the best mechanic we’ve got.” 

“Bullshit I’m coming in - I’ll be there tomorrow,” Mickey frowned, casting a glance out the window to see the large snowflakes falling down from the rapidly darkening sky. His boss continued to beg him on the other end, saying how it was the car he was fixing up for his sixteen year old daughter, and how he had so much else to do before it would be finished, and he wouldn’t be able to move on unless this hurdle was fixed - something with the engine that he couldn’t figure out. 

“I’ll pay you for a whole shift, it won’t take you that long.” Sadly, that was what broke Mickey. He couldn’t afford to turn down extra money. There was no way - he was just barely keeping food on the table and a roof over their heads as it was. 

“I gotta go, man,” Mickey said regretfully after ending the call, placing his bottle of beer onto the kitchen island, thankful that he had only had a few gulps. “Something at work, gotta drop Yev off at Iggy’s,” he sighed, heading towards the couch to shake his son awake. 

“No, no - Mick, what are you doing, just leave him here,” Ian said; when Mickey looked back at him, he found a genuinely confused expression on his face. “Lip won’t be back for a couple hours, all they’re gonna do is sleep - if he wakes up before you’re back, I’ll turn on a movie or something, we’re fine.” 

Mickey sighed at the suggestion, thumbing his bottom lip. It had taken him a while to leave his son with Iggy, and he had never left Yevgeny with anybody else - other than Mandy, once or twice, when she had happened to be in town. But then he realised that most of that was due to the fact that Yevgeny didn’t like or trust most adults - he liked and trusted Ian, so what was the problem. 

“Two hours. At most. Maybe three,” Mickey promised through a sigh, and Ian nodded, a gentle, barely there smile on his face, assuring him that they would all be fine. 

——

Mickey had been gone for nearly exactly four hours by the time he tapped on Ian’s door, not wanting to make a lot of noise, as he assumed that Yevgeny was still asleep. Freddie surely had been picked up by now. 

“Hey.” When Ian opened the door, his jeans had been swapped out for sweatpants, and he was rubbing his eyes raw, the red strands of hair clearly a result of a nap; not nearly as neat and laid back as they usually were. 

“Need me to tuck you in, Sleeping Beauty?” Mickey teased. “It’s barely ten.” 

“Disney references?” Ian said in an ‘aw’ tone; the next time he spoke, his voice was a little bit deeper. “You can tuck me in any time you want, you know that.” Mickey huffed, stomping off the snow that had gotten stuck to his shoes before walking in. 

“I got a kid man, it ain’t that weird,” he shrugged, distinctly ignoring the second part of Ian’s words. “Where is he?” 

“Knocked out in the guest room,” Ian said - through a yawn, which gave Mickey yet another reason to raise his eyebrows in lack of a verbal joke. 

“I hope that means he’s sleeping, and you haven’t actually knocked him out with pills or a heavy object,” Mickey asked, struggling to keep his face neutral when Ian’s screwed up into a bright smile. 

“Come on,” Ian said, tone amused as they walked through the short hallway - really just an extended door arch, before Ian quietly opened a door, stepping aside to let Mickey take a look. There he was - his boy. Fast asleep in one of the two small twin beds, the covers tucked safely around him, his hair tousled, face just the right amount of flushed. He looked healthy - happy, even in his sleep. “Want to wake him up?” Ian whispered next to Mickey - Mickey had a feeling he was hoping that he would say no, and he surprised even himself by doing just that. 

“Nah. It’s practically the middle of the night for him. He’s good.” Then he pulled the door closed, just as carefully as Ian had opened it, and leaned back against the wall, looking up at Ian through the weak stream of light slipping in from the kitchen. 

“How was work?” Mickey let out a huff of amusement - it was such a normal question to ask. It felt so bizarre. 

“What if I don’t wanna talk about work right now?” 

“Then we don’t,” Ian shrugged. Mickey swallowed. 

“What if I don’t wanna be a dad right now? For just a couple hours?” 

Realisation slowly settled onto Ian’s features, before he took a step forwards, placing a hand on the wall, slightly above Mickey’s head - although he wasn’t too close just yet. 

“What do you wanna be, Mick? Tell me.” 

Mickey had to tilt his head backwards, looking up at Ian. There was just barely enough light in that short hallway for him to be able to see the shine in the green eyes - the sincerity. This guy was tall, handsome, kind, young - why the hell would he want Mickey? Not that Mickey had any major insecurities about his physical appearance - but he was a single father. Not only that, but he worked, all the time. Mickey wondered, not only why Ian would want him in the first place - but the reason as to why he would ever spend all of this time pursuing him if he didn’t want something… something that didn’t just involve their dicks. Perhaps that was what scared Mickey the most - if he had had a hot neighbour who hadn’t had much of a brain, or a ton of charm, he could have passed Yevgeny off to Iggy and gotten his rocks off - odds were he wouldn’t have - but he could have. This was different - more… important. It was a bigger decision. Yevgeny had met Ian. Yevgeny liked Ian. Mickey liked Ian. And fuck - didn’t Mickey just tell himself - and Ian - that he didn’t want to be a father right now? 

“Tell me,” Ian brought him back, as if reading his thoughts. His tall frame was still hovering over him, causing Mickey’s throat to dry out. “What do you want?” 

“Want you to take me upstairs,” Mickey breathed, before he could change his mind; voice gruff. Ian hummed, catching Mickey’s lips in a passionate, open kiss - before Mickey could respond, though, it was over, and Ian turned around, peeling off his shirt as he headed back out into the living room, and up the stairs. Mickey fought his smile as he followed him. 

Closing the door to Ian’s bedroom took Mickey at least five whole seconds - it was right above the downstairs room, and the last thing he wanted was for his son to wake up. A son he didn’t have, he reminded himself. As long as he was asleep downstairs, warm and safe, and happy, he could let himself forget about him. 

With the door finally closed, a weight attached itself to Mickey’s back, two strong arms wrapping around his middle, large hands underneath his shirt, appreciating the warm skin, as several kisses were planted to the back of his neck - behind his ear, his shoulder. They weren’t even deep kisses - there wasn’t a warm tongue swiping across his skin; they were just that - kisses, pecks. Soft ones, a tender show of affection. 

“You gotta keep treating me like a virgin chick, or you wanna get on me?” The teasing words that left Mickey’s mouth gave him the exact result that he had hoped for; he was pushed forwards, Ian’s body pressing him tightly in between the door and the other man, his shirt pushed up just enough to feel the cold wood against his stomach. 

“Maybe I just wanted to give you more than a quick fuck,” Ian mumbled, his hand securely cupped around Mickey’s bulge; inside of his jeans, on top of his boxers. He could feel Ian rolling his hips against his ass, his boner pressing against I'm as close as they could come through the layers of clothing. Ian’s free hand held Mickey’s wrists against the door, his lips against his neck - but now there was indeed tongue; and a hint of teeth. 

“We got time for all your soft shit later,” Mickey grunted before he could stop himself; his wrists turned in Ian’s hand; had he wanted to, he could easily have gotten them loose, but he didn’t - he didn’t want to. He liked this, liked being pressed up against the door, manhandled. And a part of him knew that he wouldn’t have liked it nearly half as much if it had been anybody else doing it to him. “Just need it now, man,” Mickey continued, the last word fading out into a moan when Ian slipped his hand into his boxers, starting to move his hand up and down the soft skin covering his hard cock. The hand disappeared quickly, and Mickey barely had time to react before he heard Ian spit behind him, his jeans and boxers being pushed down to his knees before the hand returned, now slick, with more finesse to the movements. “Fuck,” Mickey closed his eyes, forehead leaned against the surface of the door. 

“Need what?” Mickey bit his tongue, feeling as if he were unable to speak at the moment. “What do you need, Mickey? Hm?” 

“Cock - fuck. Need you to fuck me, need your cock.” Ian’s hand stilled, two of his fingers tightening around the base of his cock, just a bit tighter than what was necessary to stave off an orgasm. 

“One more word.”

“Hm?” Mickey was too far gone, eyes still half-closed, pre-come leaking down his shaft, hips wanting to press backwards against Ian, but Ian seemed to follow the movements, moving further away. 

“You need my cock,” Ian said, before pressing a wet kiss to Mickey’s shoulder, teeth lightly scratching the area. “You need me to fuck you - what do you say when you’re asking someone to do something for you?” 

“Fuck,” Mickey barked out a breathless laugh. “You want me to say fucking please?” His eyes had fallen closed again, but his smile grew, nearly tearing his face in half; Ian hummed, slipping his hand past Mickey’s wrists, messily tangling the five fingers together with Mickey’s ten. “Please,” Mickey breathed. “Please fuck me.” 

“Good.” The word was accompanied by a slap delivered to one of Mickey’s asscheeks, and before he could react to that, the sharp pain was soothed by the large hand grabbing onto the flesh, massaging the spot. Mickey couldn’t stop the deep moan that left his throat. When he finally collected himself enough to step out of his jeans and boxers, he turned around to face the view of Ian, just a few steps away from himself, just dropping the last piece of his own clothing - his shirt - onto the floor, leaving him completely bare in the dimly lit bedroom. 

Outside, you could still hear the heavy wind, screaming around the corners of the house, shaking the foundation just barely enough that they could feel it. But as Ian took a step forwards and grabbed onto the hem of Mickey’s shirt, Mickey wondered if he had ever felt so warm as he did in that moment. With anyone else, Mickey would have gotten onto the bed, on all fours, the second that they were naked, just wanting - needing - to get it over with. But when Ian let go of Mickey’s shirt, letting it fall to the floor, he kissed him - an arm wrapped around his waist, his other hand in the black hair - as if he was in no hurry to get to anything. Mickey found himself leaning into it; appreciating it - he didn’t like kissing, but he liked kissing Ian. Ever since the very first time, on that worn-out leather couch at his place. 

Mickey even found himself getting up onto his toes in attempts to deepen the kisses; wanting to push his tongue deeper into Ian’s mouth, enjoying the way that their eagerness caused their teeth to get in the way. Eventually, without breaking the kiss, Mickey was the one that ended up moving them towards Ian’s bed, pushing him until he fell backwards; Ian refused to let go of Mickey, so he fell right along with him. 

“Turn around,” Ian mumbled into Mickey’s mouth, both of his large hands kneading the flesh of his ass. A sound somewhere in between a groan and a moan sounded in the base of Mickey’s throat, and he forced himself to break the kiss, before obeying, getting up onto his knees, and clumsily turning himself to face Ian’s standing cock. “Suck it,” Mickey heard Ian’s voice say; deep with lust. “Please. Gonna get you ready,” he continued, then, and Mickey fell forwards, supporting himself onto all fours when he felt Ian grab his ass again, pushing his thighs a bit further apart. He wasn’t even doing anything yet - just groping his ass, letting his fingertips brush over his hole, but it had been way too long. 

Mickey wasted no time closing his lips around the tip of Ian’s cock; even if he hadn’t wanted to, he didn’t have a choice; without anything to block the sounds out, he would end up waking the whole street, he could tell that already. His dick-sucking skills weren’t quite as refined as Ian’s - in fact, he was quite sure that he had never sucked a dick sober before, and even drunk out of his mind, he could probably count the times he’d blown anybody on one hand - that fact, combined with the distraction of the way that Ian was carefully using his lubed fingers to open him up, meant that Mickey felt as if the blowjob he was giving Ian probably wasn’t that great. 

It couldn’t have been - shouldn’t have been - sometimes his teeth got in the way, and he didn’t quite know how to use his tongue when he already had that massive cock shoved down his throat - or as far as he could take it before his gag reflex told him it was enough - but if the moans that he could hear from behind him was any indication - the blowjob was also not that horrible. Every once in a while, he could even feel his hips stutter beneath him, twitching, wanting to thrust up into Mickey’s throat. 

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Ian breathed; Mickey would have thought that he was lying, but by the sound of his voice, it wasn’t a conscious verbal praise. It sounded more like an unaware moan, and it spurred Mickey on, giving him the confidence to pick up his pace, taking one of his hands off of the mattress to use on the lower part of the length that he couldn’t fit in his mouth. He would love to try at some point, but right now, they were both becoming too eager. 

“Fuck, I’m good,” Mickey said, pulling his mouth from Ian’s cock, leaning his forehead against his thigh, his hand still lazily jerking him off. He tried to move to turn back around, but two large hands on his thighs stopped him, keeping him still. 

“In a minute.” 

“Gallagher, what the fuck else - fuuuuck,” the drawn out word was the result of Ian’s warm tongue entering his hole without any kind of warning; his hands moved from his thighs, back to his asscheeks, kneading them so roughly they had to be bright red by now. Mickey’s hand stilled on his cock, forehead still against the pale, freckled thigh, eyes closed, mouth screwed up into what could easily have been interpreted in any other situation as a grimace of pain - but it was anything but. He was in fucking heaven. 

“You like that?” Ian spoke, lips still resting against him. “Talk, tell me how much you like it.” Mickey grunted when Ian went back to fucking him with his tongue, his nails digging into Mickey’s ass. Did he have two tongues? What was he doing? How was he so good at this, was there a class to take? “Tell me,” Ian mumbled again, voice muffled. 

“It - fuck, it feels so fucking good,” Mickey grunted, pressing back against his face. Dirty talk - or talk of any kind - had never been his strong suit, but it seemed to be good enough for Ian. “But you - fuck, you gotta stop, I’m gonna fucking come.” It was ridiculous - his own dick hadn’t even gotten any attention aside from the head brushing against Ian’s abdomen, but it had been so long, and Ian was so fucking good at this - all of it - Mickey couldn’t help it. Ian grabbed his right cheek extra hard before finally letting him go; when Mickey turned around, he watched him reach over to his nightstand, and get a condom out, expertly opening it and rolling it onto his wet cock. Mickey took the open lube where it had been thrown onto the bed, and squeezed some out onto his hand. Ian let go of his cock, just watching as Mickey took over, jerking him a few times, making sure that he was slicked up. 

“You got no idea how many times I pictured this to get off,” Ian mumbled, looking up at Mickey, his pale hands resting gently on his thighs as he got himself situated. Mickey grinned down at him, reaching back to line Ian’s large cock up before finally sinking down, the two sighing in relief and pleasure, both pairs of eyes unable to stay open. Ian’s hands tightened, sliding further up Mickey’s thighs, as both men threw their heads backwards. When Mickey was finally seated, feeling the throbbing head of Ian stretching him out, the red pubic hairs brushing against the insides of his thighs, he opened his eyes, finding Ian already staring up at him. 

“All your pervy mind told you it’d be?” Mickey quirked an eyebrow, and Ian immediately shook his head. 

“Million times better, fuck,” he sighed. Mickey dug his teeth into his bottom lip, and brought himself up, before sinking back down, setting a fairly decent pace quite quickly. Before he could get too far, though, Ian had wrapped his arms around his waist, and flipped them over, leaving Mickey digging his teeth into his own fist to keep is sounds from waking the sleeping child; Ian wrapped his hand around his wrist and removed his fist, replacing it with his tongue, kissing him deeply as he continued to hammer into him, somehow hitting the exact right spot, each and every time. 

At some point, Ian reached down to wrap his hand around Mickey’s cock, and somewhere around that time, Mickey brought one of his to Ian’s ass, grabbing onto the pale flesh, wanting to push him even deeper inside of him. 

It was good - so good; a mess in the best way - that being said, it didn’t last long. It didn’t take more than maybe three minutes until they were both covered in Mickey’s come, and Ian rolled off of him, tying the condom off, throwing it across the room to get rid of his own. 

“We’re fucking pathetic,” Mickey grunted through staggered breaths. Ian huffed out a laugh. “Three minutes?” Mickey continued. 

“Three and a half?” Ian suggested, reaching out to tug Mickey closer. Mickey could feel his own muscles tense up - it was a reflex - and Ian seemed to notice it, too, his own following. But then Mickey forced himself to relax into the hold, and Ian relaxed as well. “Couldn’t help it,” Ian mumbled then. “Wanted you for so long.” 

“Yeah, a couple weeks,” Mickey snorted. 

“Couple weeks since I knew it was you I was waiting for,” Ian responded through a yawn. Mickey could hear his consciousness slipping away into sleep. “But I think I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.” 

——

Mickey wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Waking up in Ian’s arms? Waking up with a warm mouth around his cock - birds singing out in the cold, or perhaps mice to dance across the floor while they stitched together the perfect suit for the ball at the castle? He didn’t have a picture of what he had been expecting, but either way, when he woke up in a cold bed, he felt disappointed - for a second - and then he felt like an idiot. Ian and he weren’t boyfriends, and whatever sweet words were whispered after a fuck, everybody knew you should take them with a grain of salt. Especially late at night. 

“Fuck,” Mickey huffed under his breath, as he gathered the pieces of clothing that had left his body last night, throwing them back on before he ran a hand through the black strands on top of his head, knowing full well how messed up it probably was after all the times Ian had tugged on it last night. As he went down the staircase, he was about to call out his son’s name, but something stopped him. 

“I’m sorry,” Yevgeny’s voice said, an air of sadness to the tone. “I’m not good,” he continued. 

“No, no,” Ian’s voice responded encouragingly, the sound rough - deeper than usual; they couldn’t have been awake long. “The first pancake always looks bad, you’re doing great - I think we can fit a second one in the pan, you wanna try it again?” 

Mickey had paused at the foot of the staircase - and it was angled perfectly so that he was just out of view from the kitchen - he couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see him - but the sound of Ian and Yevgeny talking caused some… warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“See, you’re getting better - those look way better than mine!” Ian said happily; Mickey snorted to himself, before taking the few steps towards the kitchen. 

“Pancakes, huh?” 

“Hi, dad!” Yevgeny said cheerily. Now, he was sitting on the kitchen counter, while Ian had taken over the pouring of the batter, standing in front of the stove in the kitchen island. Yevgeny was dressed in blue pyjamas that one of Ian’s nephews or nieces had to have left behind. 

“Morning, Mick,” Ian looked up at him, dressed in only a t-shirt and boxers, red hair messed up, some flour on his cheek. Half of Mickey’s brain was screaming at him to grab his kid and run - this was way too fast. Yevgeny shouldn’t be getting this comfortable with a strange man this quickly - not because Ian would hurt him in any perverted way, but because… how likely was it that he would stay in their lives? Hardly anybody did. And Mickey certainly shouldn’t be getting this comfortable with a strange man this quickly. 

But… the other half of Mickey’s brain thought that it felt right - to wake up to this. It looked right to see the snow falling outside the window, and it sounded right to hear the chattering oil in the pan, and to hear Ian and Yevgeny cheer when Ian managed to flip a pancake in the air. 

“Did you sleep in Ian’s bed?” Yevgeny asked, when a few more pancakes were finished, placed onto the cookie sheet. 

“Uh, yeah - yeah, bud, I did,” Mickey stuttered, walking up to his son, ruffling his hair, where he still sat on the counter. 

“Are you boyfriends? Like uncle Iggy has girlfriends?” 

At the question, Ian turned his head, spatula still in hand, as he looked at Mickey, eyebrows raising ever so slightly in question. 

Were they? Were they boyfriends? They both knew that they weren’t just hooking up - Mickey had spent the night for fuck’s sakes - and woke up to Ian making pancakes with his son. That was not a casual relationship. And the thought of either of them being with anybody else caused Mickey’s stomach to turn - not just imagining Ian with anybody else, but the thought of letting anybody touch him who wasn’t Ian just felt… wrong. At least at this point in his life. And even though Mickey wasn’t sure why Ian would want to be with an older, single dad, apparently he did - so… maybe just this once, it was time to jump - to take the leap. 

“You know - Yev - just because two adults sleep in the same bed once in a while doesn’t mean they have to call each other boyfriend or girlfriend,” Mickey explained; as he did, he could see Ian’s shoulders fall down in what seemed to be disappointment - he had turned around by now, continuing to flip the pancakes, but Mickey could tell some of the happiness had faded. “But…” Mickey continued. “Yeah… I think Ian and I are boyfriends.” 

Ian turned back around, a growing smile on his face as he wrapped his arm around Mickey’s neck, greasy spatula dangerously close to his shoulder as he pressed his lips to Mickey’s temple. Yevgeny pretended to groan in disgust, but the sound came out closer to a giggle. 

——

After each one of them had consumed way too many pancakes than they should be able to fit in their bodies, Mickey told Yevgeny to run over to their side of the duplex, to change and brush his teeth - he had said that he would be right behind him, but of course, in the absence of the child, Ian had quickly taken the opportunity to heave Mickey up onto the kitchen island, tucking himself in between his thighs as they made out. 

“Can’t believe my boyfriend’s a hot single dad,” Ian mumbled, lips pressed against Mickey’s jawline; he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, enjoying the feeling of the long, freckled fingers digging into his clothed thighs. 

“Me being a dad turns you on, huh? That’s fucked up,” Mickey mocked. 

“It’s not fucked up,” Ian argued, in between the kisses he pressed to the pale flesh of Mickey’s neck, making his way down to his collarbone, holding down the collar of his shirt. “It’s hot. How much you care. You’re responsible. And sweet. And bossy. Fuck, I like you, Mick.” Mickey didn’t have the chance to respond to that last sentence before Ian attacked his lips again, tongue determined, but gentle as it entered his mouth. Mickey tried not to moan at the feeling, but it was impossible - Ian was too good of a kisser, and he knew exactly where to place his hands, and how tightly to press Mickey’s body up against his own. 

Mickey wasn’t quite able to get the words out. ‘I like you, too.’ So instead he tried to show him by deepening the kiss, by tugging at his hair - and Ian seemed to appreciate that just as much. 

“You working today?” Ian asked when they had slowed down - though not backed away from each other; they were still holding onto each other’s arms and hair like teenagers. Mickey shook his head. 

“Only day off this week.” Ian hummed. “But I got a kid - maybe you seen him around? Six years old, about the size of an action figure - as much as you think having a single dad as a boyfriend is hot, it also means I can’t spend all day in bed with you.” Ian just grinned at that. 

“I was thinking an innocent movie day - your son included, but it’s good to know where your mind goes,” he teased, and Mickey snorted, rolling his eyes. “Boyfriend,” Ian said, then, his hands on either side of Mickey’s face, holding him gently. 

“What are you, fourteen?” 

“I like the word - I haven’t called anyone that in so long - don’t think I’ve ever called anyone that who I’ve liked so fucking much,” Ian added the last part in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure whether Mickey would take it well. “I’m allowed to be happy.”

“I make you happy?” Mickey questioned, red hair slipping through his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Ian confirmed, not a single ounce of doubt. “You?” 

“Yeah, man - you make me fucking happy,” he nodded. “But I should probably go find my kid before he files a missing person’s report,” he sighed, then, jumping down from the island. Ian hummed. 

“I’ll clean up here, and then I’ll come over,” he said, giving Mickey one more kiss. Mickey pushed at his chest, as if he were annoyed with the affection, but they both knew he just wasn’t sure how to handle it. He had never had this kind of affection before - but that didn’t mean that he didn’t like it. 

——

Christmas came fast - way too fast - and as much as Mickey usually looked forwards to a day off of work, where he didn’t have to talk to anybody other than his son, and possibly his brother - when Ian had invited them over to spend the day with him and his family, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say no. 

It should have been impossible for the sky to throw more snow down over Chicago, but Christmas Day was a full-on storm, worse than any other - but a part of Mickey liked it. He liked seeing the world outside the windows, covered in a blanket of cold snow - because he was inside; warm in more ways than one. 

They ate dinner, watched television, opened presents - the adults had decided not to give each other anything, instead focusing on the happy looks on the children’s faces as they opened their gifts. It wasn’t at all the kind of Christmas that Mickey had expected to have this year, but it felt good - right. 

——

Eventually, Debbie and Lip had to leave - and they took their children, of course - which left Ian and Mickey alone with Yevgeny, as the daylight faded, nothing but the bright snow, and flickering streetlights lighting the world outside. Yevgeny was passed out on the sofa, Home Alone playing on the television screen, nearly muted. 

“Hey… I do have a gift for you,” Ian suddenly mumbled against Mickey’s temple, bringing him out of the half-asleep state he had been perfectly at peace in. 

“Ian,” Mickey groaned quietly. “We said we wouldn’t. They hadn’t been together for that long at all - giving each other presents was way too much pressure. “And I didn’t - “

“Yeah, it’s nothing big - I just saw them, they might turn us green, so don’t get too attached - but…” Mickey moved off of Ian, watching as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, bringing two necklaces out - matching ones. One was a dog-tag, with a cut-out heart, and the other one was just the heart - and each of them said ‘his’. 

“That’s so fucking cheesy,” Mickey bit before he could stop himself. 

“You don’t have to wear it - “

“Fuck you, I’m gonna wear it every goddamn day - but I’m taking the tag, you wear the heart - you’re gayer than me.” 

“I - “

“Careful - “ Mickey interrupted him, both of them grinning mischievously, as he threw his head towards the sleeping child. Ian hummed - a sound that said ‘Okay. We’ll finish this later. With my dick up your ass, because we both know we’re both really, and equally fucking gay.’ Ian put the necklace on Mickey, and Mickey put the necklace on Ian, and then they shared a sweet kiss, before Mickey laid back down, resting his head against Ian’s shoulder, feeling a strong arm wrap around his middle, tugging him closer. 

Ian turned up the sound of the movie, just barely enough that they could hear it over the snowstorm outside. It was cold outside, but they were warm, all three of them - just the way it was supposed to be. It was a good Christmas - and it would certainly not be the last one they all spent together. 


End file.
